


Five ways it could have gone and didn’t (and one way it did)

by redtoes



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Post Season 3 fix fic, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 03, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtoes/pseuds/redtoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five Logan/Veronica moments where everything could have gone right but didn’t, and one moment where it did.</p><p>Contains: angst, mention of canon sexual assault, sex, fluff, deadpan snark, wish fulfillment</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The boat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer - I own nothing but the Veronica Mars T-shirt I'm expecting in the post as a Kickstarter thank you.

_“I thought we’d try a practice run on Catalina Island. So what do you think about skipping school Friday for a little ride on Dad’s boat? Dinner and a movie?”_

 

When she arrives at the dock he’s already opened the champagne. She wasn’t sure if she was going to come, not after she found out about the GHB at Shelley Pomoroy’s party and the fact Tad had secured the dose Carmen had taken from Logan.

And if Tad got the Liquid X from Logan, who else had Logan supplied to? Could Logan really have -

Could be the one? Could he be the reason why she’d woken up without underwear a year and a half ago?

God knows he hasn’t always been someone who had her back, but even at his worst, would he really have…? Could he really have…?

She doesn’t want to think it of him, but Veronica was feeling pretty burned out on trust right now, what with her father’s secret newspaper ad and Carmen’s popsicle related loss of face. Tad was what Carmen said - an idiot loser crabface, dosing his girlfriend’s drink with date rape drugs and video taping the results. But then Veronica knew how much worse it could have been, after all Carmen hadn’t been the one waking up roofied and raped in a guest bedroom.

And yet Carmen had been forgiving.

Veronica didn’t know if she had the same level of forgiveness in her, but she also knew she had to know. And if finding out the truth meant the end of her and Logan’s fledgling relationship, so be it.

She turned the LaBaron into the marina parking lot and killed the engine.

Since leaving Tad duct taped to the flag pole she’d been driving in circles. She hadn’t even handed in the assignment that was the only reason she’s been anywhere near the high school to begin with. She didn’t want to go home - with Dad off chasing Duncan Back-up would be extra nervous, and she didn’t have the energy to deal with the dog’s enthusiasm at her unexpected return. Wallace was already in school and not picking up his phone, and for all that Mac was a helpful ally she had not yet crossed the line into being the sort of friend Veronica could talk this over with. And even if she had been, what would Veronica say - no one knew about the rape, save Sheriff Lamb and she certainly wasn’t going to turn to him for comfort.

No, this she had to face head on.

She had to talk to Logan.

She glanced at the clock set in the car’s dashboard. Eleven am. She was already two hours late. Would Logan even still be in the marina?

Would he have waited?

Her phone beeped again - another missed call from his number and Veronica knew her decision was made. She turned the car south toward the yacht club and hoped that Logan was going to be able to come up with some completely reasonable explanation why he was the one with the drugs that resulted in the worst morning of her life.

As she walks up alongside the boat she can see him drinking from the bottle of champagne, apparently not caring that as much was going down his shirt as into his mouth.

She doesn’t say anything as she approached, but his eyes locked onto hers and she could see him mentally choosing between potential opening lines. Would he be teasing or aggressive? Could she take it if he was nice, given what she had to ask. For half a second she almost wished he was back in old Logan mode, his aggressive reaction to Lilly’s death and her father’ pursuit of the Kanes. She didn’t want to regret losing this new thing that was between them but if he had had anything to do with that dose of GHB that ended up in her drink, she wanted to be be able to hate him without reservation.

“You’re late,” Logan says, wiping the remnants of champagne off his lips.

“I know.”

“I thought you weren’t coming.” He doesn’t sound right and she realises suddenly that it’s because his voice is completely flat. Almost emotionless. Something in her twists at the sound but the more rational part of her brain recognises that this might well make things easier.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, and if she thought his face was closed down before, those words make virtual shutters slam down behind his eyes.

“Breaking up already Ronnie? I’d have thought you’d at least want to thank me properly for saving your life.”

“It’s not about that,” she says. She has trouble choosing the right words. Part of her wants to scream and part of her wants to cry and part of her wants to throw things. And then there’s this other part of her that just want to walk away. “Look,” she adds, “I need to tell you some stuff and I need to ask you some questions, and I need to you be honest with me.”

“Is this about Lilly?”

“No,” Veronica says, steeling herself and looking him straight in the eye, “it’s about the night I was raped.”

“The night you -” and just like that all the aggression is gone from his face. Replaced with something closer to horror. “When? Who? Veronica, I-”

She knows as well as anyone that there are no easy words for this. So she says nothing as he holds out his hand to her, stumbling over the start of sentences and helps her board his father’s yacht.

The champagne bottle is half empty, it’s contents going flat, abandoned on the table. Logan holds both of her hands, standing over her, his face full of concern.

“We should go to the police,” he says, and she can’t help but make an undignified sound at that. If only he knew.

“I tried that,” Veronica says. “The morning after. It didn’t do any good.”

“When?” he asks again. “When was this?”

“The morning after Shelley Pomoroy’s party,” she says and watches as his eyes change from concern and confusion to something with just a hint of guilt to it.

He knows something.

The realisation hits her like a train and she pulls back, yanking her hands out of his.

“Oh God Veronica,” he says, “No, no, I had no idea. I would never have -”

She can’t seem to free her hands from his grasp, he’s holding onto her tighter than ever and he knows something and she has to get away.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he says, and even as he says it she can see him flinch. “I would never hurt you.” He corrects, “but I was so angry that night.”

She twists and manages to break free of him, but she can’t get away, he’s crowding her.

“You were so drunk,” he says, “and that’s my fault, and if I hadn’t - Oh God!”

“Logan, what did you do?” Her voice is rising higher and higher and there are tears in her eyes and she can’t take this.

“I gave you shots,” he says, “You were passed out by the pool and we woke you up and we fed you shots.” He stares into her eyes, willing her to understand, to forgive him.

“I was drugged,” she says, “I only remember one drink and there was GHB in it, and Tad, Tad that asshole, he told me you were the one with GHB that night.”

“I didn’t give you GHB,” Logan says, shaking his head, “I didn’t. I fed you tequila and that’s it. I -” and now it’s his turn for his voice to break, “I thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” And there’s steel in her tone now, and she’s determined to break away from him and he steps in even closer and wraps his arms around her, trying to erase the past with a hug. “You thought feeding me shots was funny? What else happened? What else did you do? What else did you do?!”

She struggling in his arms now, and he knows if he keeps hold of her it’s all going to be worse, but it’s a conscious effort to get his arms to unlock. He’s got the distinct feeling this could be the last time he ever gets to hold her and he doesn’t want this to be over yet, but if he’s going to have any chance at keeping her he needs to be honest.

“There were bodyshots,” he says, letting go of her and dropping his arms to his sides. “And some of the guys thought it would be funny for you to make out with Shelley, but that’s it. Duncan came, and he picked you up and he took you away. That’s it. I thought he took you home but then I saw him with someone else, and I, I just went home. I left you there.”

He looks up from his contemplation of the deck to see her, eyes red and swollen, standing there staring at him. “If I could take it back I would.” He says, “I never wanted to hurt you, I should have stopped it. I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t say anything and suddenly in his head he realises she’s caught between fight and flight. That these seconds are crucial.

“I’m so sorry Veronica, I didn’t know.” And he feels his legs go out from under him and he’s falling forwards, falling down onto his knees so he was to look up at her and he can feel tears on his face to match the tears on hers. “I’m so sorry.”

And for a second it’s exactly like when he accepted that his mother was dead, and her arms come up around him instinctively and they cling to each other on the deck of the boat, champagne abandoned just like all the other happy plans they had made for today.

She cries and he cries and she cries again and one of them holds the other the whole way through until she’s sniffing back the last of her tears, cradled in his arms, hidden from sight of the world by the boat’s dashboard.

She sits there unmoving, then realises he’s stroking her hair and probably has been for a long time.

“What now?” She says in a quiet voice, so completely unlike the girl he knows, the girl he loves.

“I can never say sorry enough,” he says into her hair. “I should have protected you. I should have done something.”

She shifts in his arms and he knows that this delicate broken version of Veronica is building up her walls and clamping down on her emotions. It’s of absolutely no surprise to him when her tone on her next words is brusque, business like.

“You had GHB at the party?”

“Yes.”

“Did you give it to anyone?”

“I gave it to Duncan. I put it in his drink.”

“No other drinks?”

“No, but” and she shifts at his hesitation. He sighs, knowing that this isn’t nearly over yet. “I wasn’t the only one with GHB. Luke had some. He gave it to Dick. Sean had some but I think he gave it to Tad.”

“So, Dick.” She says, her voice considering.

“Dick wouldn’t,” Logan protests.

“Are you sure about that?” She says, “because someone spiked my drink and if it wasn’t you…”

“I’ve known Dick Casablancas for years,” he says, “he wouldn’t.”

“Someone did,” she insists.

“And we will find out who that was,” he says. “We’ll find out and we’ll make them pay. Even if it’s Dick.” He pulls back to look her in the eyes. “We’ll do it together. I’ve got your back Veronica. Always.”

It’s not much of a smile, but it’s the beginnings of one, and just like that he knows this can be fixed, that they can come back from this together.


	2. The surprise party

_“If you have a problem with Veronica you’re pretty much dead to me, so just evaporate or something, I don’t know.”_

 

This time he doesn’t ask her if she wants a drink and she never sees him unscrew the vent cover to retrieve the key. Instead they lie beside each other on top of the covers, side by side, conversation interspersed with kisses.

He says he wants her to trust him, and even after all the revelations, and the knowledge that Duncan’s presence in that bed was partially down to Logan, she still does. And she wants to prove it to him.

She’s known that she wasn’t raped for about 4 hours and it’s amazing how it’s changed her perceptions of sex and intimacy. She might not remember that night but now she knows it wasn’t the nightmare she thought it could be. But now she wants memories that she can remember, a second first time to replace the one lost to drugs and alcohol.

He might have removed her jacket but he’s not pushing her any further than that.

His kisses are passionate but his hands are chaste, not venturing beneath her clothing, despite the way they run over her body. He pulls her tight against him and she can feel how her body reacts to his and his body reacts to hers and she smiles against his mouth.

“Veronica,” he moans, kissing his way down her neck, and she takes the opportunity to pull the tank top she’s wearing over her cami up over her head and off.

He immediately stills and stares at her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She says, “I trust you.”

He grins and kisses her and she wraps her arms around him and lets him roll them so she’s straddling his hips. His hands are on her waist and he looks up at her with such light in his eyes it makes her catch her breath.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, pushing himself up on his elbows to kiss her again.

And then his hands are on the bottom of her cami and he’s pulling it up and over her head. And she’s sitting there on top of this boy who was her friend and then her enemy and now is her boyfriend in only her bra.

It’s not her prettiest bra and she’s suddenly very aware of how she compares to Lilly in the chest area. Even Duncan never saw her like this - at least not that she can remember - and she knows Logan’s got plenty of experience to compare her to.

She meets his eye and he grins even wider and she’s just knows she’s blushing.

“You’re beautiful Veronica Mars,” he says, and he wraps his arms around her waist and presses his lips to her collarbone. She lets her head fall back, lets her eyes close and just enjoys the sensation.

Logan pulls back long enough to pull his own shirt up and over his head, then he rolls them, pressing her down into the mattress, his bare chest against her barely covered one. She’s never felt someone else’s skin pressed up against hers before and all she wants is more.

So when he lifts himself up and moves one hand down to undo the button on her jeans, her hands go to his belt, both of them fumbling at buttons and buckles. Logan looks up from their hands to her eyes and grins. He leans in and pecks a kiss to the end of her nose and she giggles.

“You can tell me to stop,” he says seriously, “at any time.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

“At any time,” he repeats, then her jeans are open and he’s reaching to push them down her legs.

Things get complicated then - she’s still wearing her boots and so is he. In the end both of them have to pull back from the other to untie laces and pull off shoes and socks. He ends up standing over her, his jeans open, his skin flushed. She’s just pushed her jeans off her feet and is sitting on the bed in just her underwear. She’s happy to see the panties mostly match the bra - they’re not exactly matching set but they’re the same color and that’s enough to make her feel a little more womanly, a little more like she thinks Lilly would have been.

She wonders suddenly if Lilly slept with Logan here, on this bed. If he’s thinking of her right now.

“Hey,” Logan says, raising a hand to cup her cheek. “Where did you go?”

“I’m right here,” she says.

“Then stay here with me,” he says, leaning down to kiss her. He pushes the jeans down off his hips, then crawls onto the bed, pushing her backwards until she’s laid out beneath him. “So beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, moving from her neck to her collarbone, then down to her breasts.

She feels his tongue through the lace of the cups and gasps. It’s a strange sensation, and it’s beyond everything she ever did with Duncan. His mouth feels amazing, especially when he locks his lips around her nipple and bites gently.

Her hands fly up to his head and her fingers twist into his hair and she can see as she looks down the cockiest grin in the world on his face, delighted by her reaction.

“More?” he asks.

“More,” she confirms.

Logan grins even wider - which she didn’t think was possible, and his hand is suddenly flat on her abdomen and moving lower.

He maintains eye contact with her as his hand moves lower, then starts to stroke the skin just above the waistband of her panties. Her breath catches in her throat and she feels her fingers clench Logan’s hair. He moves up her body to kiss her as his fingers slip under the material of her underwear and start to stroke.

She’s touched herself before of course, but this is different, similar only on the surface to her past experiences. Logan’s fingers seem more confident than her own ever were, or maybe it’s just that she can relax into this sensation, experience the pleasure without having to do anything herself.

She breathes his name, and she feels the smile on his lips when he kisses her.

And then all there is is pleasure and tingling nerves.

His fingers dip deeper and she feels them push at her opening then slip inside. One finger, then two, and then he curls them, rubbing against her insides at the same time as his thumb rubs her clit, and she explodes into orgasm. Faster and more intense than any masturbation she’s ever experienced.

He pulls his hand back and she feels suddenly bereft.

Veronica lies there, feeling her nerves tingle, Logan pressed up against her side.

He rests one hand on her stomach and use the other to prop up his head.

“Happy?” He asks.

“Very,” she confirms, “but what about you? I haven’t done anything for you…” She trails off, looking down at the prominent tent in his boxer shorts.

Logan cocks an eyebrow at her.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says.

“I want to,” Veronica insists, “I just, I know the theory…”

Logan grins again, and she thinks she’s seen him smile more in the last half hour and she has in months.

“Here,” he says holding out his hand to her, and she lets him guide her hand to his groin. He lets go of her long enough to roll onto his back and lift his hips, slipping the underwear off.

And then he’s naked and she’s very nearly so.

He looks at her for permission and at her nod takes her hand and wraps it around his cock. He squeezes her fingers and she squeezes his cock in turn and he groans, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

His hand falls away from hers, and she - knowing the theory - starts to move her hand, causing him to catch his breath just as she had been minutes before.

He groans as she speeds up her hand, then suddenly he’s rolling them again, both his hands cupping her face as he kisses her deeply.

“Veronica Mars,” he says, “you are amazing.”

“I try,” she manages before he claims her mouth again.

His hands skin over her shoulders, pushing her bra down and baring her nipples. His head drops down again to lick at the flesh of her breast and it catches her so off guard her rhythm falters.

“Do you want to…” she gasps. “Do you have a condom?”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“I won’t break Logan,” she says, “I trust you. I want you. I want this.”

He reaches over and opens the drawer in the bedside table without looking away from her. It only takes a few seconds of rummaging before he’s back, condom in hand.

“Are you sure?” he asks again.

“Stop asking me,” she says, “I’m sure.”

“I want you to be certain.”

“You just turned your back on the 09-ers for me,” Veronica points out, “I trust you.”

Logan rolls onto his back and opens the condom wrapper.

Veronica sits up and reaches around behind her to undo her bra, then lifts her hips to shimmy out of her panties. She barely has time to get nervous about her nudity before Logan is back, kissing her and running his hands over her skin. She pulls him down, pressing her body into his and fully aware of just how much larger he is than her.

He positions himself between her legs and looks up, and she can tell from the look on his face that’s he’s going to ask her if she’s sure again.

She pushes herself up to kiss him, then whispers “yes” in his ear.

He doesn’t say anything, but his fingers move between her legs causing her to gasp. She feels the pressure of his latex covered cock pushing against her, so much larger than his fingers, and even though she’s no longer a virgin, that she’s done this before, there’s still a bit of pain as he pushes into her.

Once inside he holds himself still, his head further up the bed than hers and his eyes tightly closed in concentration. She tilts her head back and can just about reach his lips with her own. Her hand come up on his back and she pushes at him, urging him to move.

His eyes open as he kisses her, catching her own gaze intensely.

“I trust you,” she whispers against his skin and then suddenly he’s moving, she’s moving, they’re moving together.

Skin on skin and sweat on sweat, his arms brace him above her and her legs wrap around his waist and the whole time their lips are locked together.

Pleasure rolls through her body, building with every movement, and she feels her internal muscles clenching around him.

“You up for a different angle?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for her answer, rolling them to the side, so he’s on his back and she’s suddenly on top.

She bites her lip as his hands urge her up, pushing her into a sitting position. She looks down at him and he cocks an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to do all the work Ronnie,” he says playfully, then mock yelps when she hits out at his chest.

He rolls his hips, thrusting up into her and she gasps. His hands fall to her hips and he’s urging her to move, to match his thrusts and she does and it’s amazing.

One of his hands slips from her hip to rub his thumb against her clit and the sensations double, then triple and suddenly she’s coming, her head thrown back, her mouth issuing incoherent moans and gasps that make him smugger by the second.

Her arms hang limp, fallen bonelessly to her sides.

She slows but he thrusts even deeper, and she opens her eyes in time to see his eyes close and his face tense as he grunts in acknowledgement of his own climax.

His hands are tight on her hips and they slow down to nothing together, then he pulls her down into the crook of his arm and they lie there, glowing with sweat and breathless and fully aware that things in their relationship have changed permanently.

“Logan,” she breaths, her head pillowed on his chest.

“I know,” he replies, and there’s no smugness to his voice as he says simply “that was great.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head and they both lie there, staring up at the ceiling, basking in their afterglow.

Veronica’s not sure what to think, not sure what to say. She’s blissfully happy and content, but she knows enough about life to know this feeling can’t possibly last.

Something will come along to break them, to break her.

She’s not uncomfortable but the sweat cooling on her skin is a strange sensation. Not to mention the stickiness between her legs.

Logan shifts, moving to tie off the condom and dump it in a nearby trash can, and she watches him move, enjoying the play of his muscles in the half light of the room.

He sees her watching and grins again, then jumps back onto the bed, the impact bouncing her into the air.

She giggles and lets him pulls her into an embrace, and then looking up at the ceiling she sees it.

The lens.

The covered wiring.

“Logan,” she says, pushing at his shoulder to get his attention. “What’s that?”


	3. The Xterra

_“The things guys will say to get past second base.”_

 

He presses her down into the car seat and then they both tense at the sudden sound of a shotgun blast, just outside the window. This time the blast is just for show, no windows broken, so while Logan and Veronica are stunned, neither they nor the car ends up damaged in any way.

He looks at her as the PCHers speed off, moving too fast for either of them to get the license plates.

“Don’t tell me,” he says, “to call the Sheriff.”

“You should,” she answers.

“And tell him what?” Logan points out. “It’s not like Lamb’s my biggest fan. What do I say, someone set off a loud noise and made me jump?”

“They shot at us!”

“They shot near us,” Logan corrects, “there’s no damage and no evidence and it’ll end up being my word against theirs. I’m already involved in one case like that, I’ve got no need to get involved in a second.”

Her brow furrows, but she accepts his argument.

He kisses her again, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “Still,” he says, “that was close.”

“Weevil’s not going to just back off,” she says.

“I’ve got a few ideas about that.”

“And they are?” Veronica asks, “An eye for an eye? Something about the whole world being blind ring any bells?”

“It’s the only way he’ll learn,” Logan insists.

“It’s just going to make things worse.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she says, “just leave it for now. Let things get back to normal. Don’t make it worse than it already is.”

“Easy for you to say Gandhi,” Logan points out, dropping his mouth to kiss her neck.

“Make peace not war,” Veronica points out, then gasps as he nibbles on her shoulder.

“You’re very cliched today.”

“Says the man with inspirational quotes on his voicemail.”

Login grins at her.

“I love you, Veronica Mars.”

“If you love me you’ll leave it be,” she replies. “Or maybe because I love you, I could offer you a distraction.” She leans back and lifts her hands to the neckline of her top. “Want to make second base official?”

“I’ve always been a fan of the home run,” he says, but there’s a smile on his face and no pressure in his tone.

“All in good time slugger,” Veronica chastises, “You gotta work your way up from the minors first.”

“I’m willing to put in the hours,” he says, reaching for her.

“Another time hot shot,” she replies, “remember the telescope? The one attached to that high powered rifle?”

“The one your Dad has pointed at my head?” He grins, adopting his southern belle voice, “what with all the excitement I done plain forgot.”

“And now our time is up,” Veronica says in a quiz show host voice.

“How did I do?”

“Good for the minors but there’s still some work to do before you’re ready for the show.”

“I believe in the church of baseball,” Logan quotes and Veronica giggles, then reaches for her bag and jacket.

“I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow?”

“Come by at one,” he agrees.

She climbs out of the Xterra, always forgetting just how much higher off the road it is than her LeBaron. She stumbles a bit but he catches her arm and she doesn’t fall.

“Hey,” he says, “I really am in love with you.”

“I love you too,” she says.

While she’s sure her Dad’s too good to be caught peaking, he looks far too casual on the couch when she opens the front door.

“Nice evening sweetheart?”

“I have no complaints.”

“What was that commotion I heard earlier?” He says, turning the pages of a newspaper nonchalantly.

“Just a few of the PCHers marking their territory. Nothing to worry about.”

“You say that,” Keith remarked, “and yet I don’t feel comforted.”

“Tensions are running high,” she says, “it’ll get better.”

“Ever the optimist.”

“Well this optimist is going to bed,” she says, heading for her room.

“Night sweetheart,” she hears as she closes the door. “Sleep well.”

But the problem is she can’t.

It’s after midnight and she’s got a full day of hostessing tomorrow, as well as lunch with Logan, but she’s just not tired enough to sleep.

She stretches out on top of her bed, thinking about her day, thinking about Logan, thinking about the shotgun blast that could have been so much more than a loud noise.

 

*****

 

There’s no need for revenge.

Instead of plotting retribution with Dick and Beaver, he sits in the Java Joint doing what passes for summer school homework while she earns a wage away from telescopic lenses and GPS trackers. He points out more than once that she doesn’t need to make her own money, that he can provide, but he doesn’t take it badly when she refuses.

She’s told him about her mother absconding with the fifty grand her Dad earned recovering Duncan, and she knows more than she ever wanted to about his father’s dark side. They agree honesty is the best policy.

She tells him when Duncan starts showing up during her shifts.

He tells her he’s not jealous, but that’s when he starts bringing his homework down. Every day.

She’s tries not to let on that she likes that he’s there.

They banter between customers, and Duncan doesn’t stay long.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to build bridges but she recognises that Duncan made his choice a long time ago; when he dumped her; when he walked out of Logan’s un-birthday surprise party; when he asked out Meg. Right now she’s happy, despite everything. And even the memory of the murder charge hanging over Logan’s head isn’t enough to darken her day.

He tries to take her out. Expensive restaurants, exclusive clubs. She’s says no to all of it.

Instead she makes him dinner while her Dad’s out of town on the book tour. Slips him a free slice of cake at the Joint. Pays for popcorn when he springs for tickets at the multi-screen. She lets him treat her to ice cream at the beach, but everything else is fifty-fifty. Equal shares, cost split straight down the middle.

And then on the last Friday of the Summer she books the night off.

She’s taken every shift she could - evenings and afternoons and weekends, clawing back every cent she could of her lost college fund. She’s still nowhere near the funds she had before, but there’s more there now than there was after she paid for her mother’s rehab.

And there’s enough that she can afford to do this.

His eyes widen when he opens the door and sees her standing there in a dress and heels. He covers it well, but she knows she looks good. He knows she knows she looks good.

“Branching out from hosting to home delivery?” He smirks.

“Put a shirt on,” she says, stepping inside. “We’re going out.”

It’s not the best restaurant in town, not the most exclusive or the most expensive. It’s not one Lilly hired out for a party or the one Logan’s mother used to hire to cater her events. It’s not the place Logan bribed the bartender to slip some run in their cokes on Duncan’s birthday or the place Veronica went for the last happy family meal she ever had with both parents in place.

It’s somewhere to make entirely new memories.

It’s a table for two.

“You know,” he says, when they’re seated at the table and the waiter is bringing their (non-alcoholic) drinks. “If you wanted to eat out we could have gone to San Diego, or LA. Anywhere really.”

“I wanted to take you out,” she says.

“I always wanted to be a kept man.”

“It’s silly,” she admits, “I know. But -”

“I get it,” he interrupts, slipping his hand across the waxy tablecloth to take hers. “Our own terms.”

It’s been a familiar refrain this summer. It’s what he said when he filed for emancipation from his father. It’s what she said when she wouldn’t let him pay for more than his fair share.

Everything has to be on their own terms.

She smiles and cracks a joke about ordering lobster. He accuses her using his allergy to commit her own perfect murder. They might only be drinking homemade lemonade but her head feels lighter.

Happier.

They’ve been together for three months. Between them they’ve coped with Lilly’s death, the rape that wasn’t (quite), his father’s attack, her father’s suspicion, the hatred of the PCHers and the confusion of the 09ers.

But this, at least, has been easy.

She has to let go of his hand when the food arrives, so she curls her ankle around his instead, playing footsie under the table throughout starter and main and dessert.

The conversation flows, light and easy. Banter and teasing. Even the looming spectre of senior year at Neptune High isn’t enough to bring them down.

When the bill comes, he doesn’t suggest going dutch, doesn’t reach for it. She hands her card over, signs the slip and he grins.

“I could get used to this.”

“Someone else paying?” she teases, “Surely that shouldn’t be so unusual for you.”

“Enough of your lip there hussy,” he grins, “And don’t call me Shirley.”

Outside in the parking lot he presses her up against the side of the Xterra, lifting her off the ground to grind against her. Back at the house, she accepted his argument that they should take his car and not hers without a word of complaint, and it wasn’t for the reasons of fuel efficiency or whatever else he’d said at the time. She’d known, even as she planned this, that she wanted tinted windows and a spacious back seat to be part of the evening.

She lets his hands take her weight and pulls her legs up to wrap them around his waist. The skirt of her dress falls back, and one of his hands shifts from the cloth covered curve of her ass along to her naked thigh, his fingers hot against her skin.

She gasps and let her head fall back. He buries his mouth in her neck, the hand on her thigh shifting down around her leg and underneath to the edge of her panties.

“Logan,” she says, and he, well he doesn’t quite freeze, but he stops moving.

He pulls back his head to look at her and she can see the expectation in his eyes that this is where she’s going to draw the line, this is where the evening ends for them.

And she knows he’s not going to push it. He knows her romantic history and he’s willing to go at her pace and he’s been oh so understanding and she loves him for it.

“My Dad’s out of town,” she says instead. “Do you want to come home with me?”

“You sure?” he says.

“Yes,” she smiles, “I love you.” It’s the first time she’s said it first, not in reply to him. And she knows he knows that.

And when he smiles it’s like sunshine, warm and happy, she could bask in the light of him all day.

All night.

“Yeah,” he says, dipping his head to peck kisses on her lips between words. “I’d like that.”


	4. The alterna-prom

_I thought our story was epic, you know. You and me?_

 

“I’m sorry, about last summer,” Logan says, “if I could do it over…”

“Oh come on,” Veronica replies, “ruined lives, bloodshed, you really think a relationship should be that hard?

“No one writes songs about the ones that come easy.”

And he touches her face.

And she panics, and he sees it, and just in time, just in time, he kisses her before she can run.

His hands are on her cheeks, holding her face, her lips pressed against his.

Her hands are in her lap. She’s frozen in place, hasn’t moved since he crossed those last inches between them.

He opens his mouth in the kiss, his lips and tongue inviting movement, and after a second - a second in which his mind races and he thinks she’s going to run again, going to scream, going to hit him and leave him - and then she’s kissing him back, and her entire body relaxes into it, sliding into his embrace like melted wax.

He lets the kiss last a few moments longer. She still might run, this still might be the last kiss they ever share, and he can’t bare to let her go too soon and never touch her again.

Then he pulls back, his hands still cupping her face, and her hands come up to rest on his shoulders and her eyes are wide, her pupils blown, gone large and dark. Her cheeks are flushed and her breath is ragged and there’s only one thing to say.

“Veronica.”

She looks perfect. Even flushed and nervous, she still looks perfect. His shirt is open and his bow tie long since unclasped but she looks like a dream and she’s right here, right now and he love her more than he ever thought he could. And if she walks away now he knows it would kill him, send him straight to the bottom of the bottle and whatever comfort he can gain from anyone who’s not her.

But she hasn’t moved. Yet.

“Logan,” she says so softly it’s barely more than a whisper. “I, we…”

The music is still playing but he doesn’t care about the rest of the people in the room, these people who came to the alterna-prom he only threw so he could have this one last chance to put things right.

“I love you,” he says, and in the back of his mind he can hear her retort from the first time he said it - _The things guys will say to get past second base._ The events of the past year, of every second since he was last able to do this, watching her with Duncan, sneering at her across the room while his heart broke in his chest. All the moments since they were last together, last happy, play out in his head, and he wants to tell her, explain somehow, but language fails him. “I missed you,” he says, knowing that the words themselves don’t seem like enough and hoping she knows him well enough for them to stand for everything he can’t quite say. He’s already made his speech tonight.

“I missed you too,” she says, “but we already know this doesn’t work.”

“We don’t know that,” he says, “we don’t know anything.”

“It didn’t work before.”

“That was before. A year ago.” He struggles to express himself, express his belief that this time things will be different. He takes solace from the fact that she hasn’t run yet. She’s still sitting here, so close, letting him touch her face and -

On instinct he leans in again for another kiss.

Actions speak louder than words.

This time she responds immediately, her mouth opening, her tongue touching his. Her arms come up and wrap around his neck and he drops one of his hands from her face to her waist to pull her towards him.

This time she breaks the kiss.

“A kiss doesn’t make everything better Logan.”

“Why not?”

“The world doesn’t work like that.”

“It should,” he says, and drops his mouth to hers for another kiss. She hasn’t let go of him, is in fact pulling him closer and it’s so easy to lift her up, tiny thing that she is, lift her up and onto his lap, her legs hanging awkwardly over his right thigh.

He takes a chance and kisses down from her mouth along the line of her jaw to the skin just below her ear. He breathing has sped up and she’s clinging to him but he knows this is still just a moment. One more epic moment, and he has to make it more than that, change it from a moment into a start. A new beginning.

“You’re drunk,” she breathes by his ear as his mouth bites at her ear lobe.

“I’m not,” he whispers back.

“You must be,” she says, but now her lips are on his neck, her fingers dip inside the open collar of his shirt to stroke his skin. “You called us epic. It was poetic. That’s so drunk you.”

“Hey,” he says, pulling back to look her in the eye. “I can be poetic sober, or have all these years of inspiration messages gone to waste?”

“I always wondered where you found all those quotes,” she says, her nose millimetres from his own.

“I had a book,” he admits, “and then there was Google.”

“Still,” she says, “you were drinking champagne from the bottle. You can’t tell me you’re entirely sober.”

He hesitates.

“No,” he admits, “I’m not entirely sober. I couldn’t be, I needed something to help me say all that. But I’m not drunk. I know what I’m doing. I know what I want.”

She doesn’t say anything, and he wonders if now she’s been struck down with the same loss of words he felt before he kissed her for the second time. What does it say that his kisses can leave her speechless?

“I want you,” he adds, “I want to kiss you and be with you and see you every day. I don’t want to graduate and have you be part of my past. I want you in my present. And my future. I love you, Veronica Mars, and I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to ever let you go.”

“Logan, I-”

“I don’t need you to say anything right now,” he says, knowing that he’s pushing his luck about as far as he ever has right now. “I just want you to stay, here, with me. Tonight. We don’t have to do anything, just don’t leave. Stay.”

Her eyes stare at him, so big and clear.

“Please Veronica,” he says, “I love you. Give us one more chance. Please.”

“One more chance,” she says slowly, as if sounding out the words.

“One more chance,” he agrees.

She smiles and his heart soars and he just knows that now, this time everything is going to be okay. It doesn’t matter right now that his Dad isn’t in jail or that he doesn’t have a college place for next year or that his house burned down taking all his worldly possessions with it. Right now he has everything he wants.

“It’s pretty loud,” he says, “do you wanna get out of here? Talk somewhere?”

“It is loud,” she says, and stands up.

She smiles at him and he swings his leg up and over the bench to stand in front of her. She offers him her hand and he takes it.

“It’s loud,” she repeats, and he has to lean in close to hear her over the noise of the music. “But I don’t really want to go anywhere else.”

And to his absolute delight and surprise she leads him through the party to the back of the suite where his bedroom is. He’s not sure how she knows the way - Duncan’s room was at the other end - but he knows right now he’d follow her anywhere.

This is the main advantage to an alterna-prom over any other type of prom. The bedrooms are within walking distance.

She walks ahead of him, but she doesn’t let go of his hand.

As they reach his bedroom door he has half a second of panic that the room might be occupied. That he might have to throw someone out. That while his back is turned to deal with it, she’ll slip away, and all this will be just another missed opportunity.

But the room is empty.

Quiet even, when he closes the door behind them.

Veronica stands, pristine in her black dress, not a hair out of place, and Logan has to clamp down on the urge to run around, tidying up. It’s not like there’s a lot of mess, but he’s never been with anyone who makes him feel as imperfect and messy as she does. Lilly revelled in the mess, delighted in chaos. Veronica, for all that she was Lilly’s best friend, was also her opposite.

For the life of him he can’t explain how two such completely different girls have given him their trust.

Their love.

He standing beside the door, debating whether or not to push the button lock and keep the rest of the alterna-prom out or whether Veronica will take the idea of being locked in a room with him badly, when he hears a soft cough.

He glances up, ready to explain his thoughts on locking the door, and feels his jaw drop.

Veronica - his perfect, pristine untouched Veronica - is sitting on the bed in her underwear. And heels.

The dress is folded neatly over a nearby chair and she’s just sitting there, smiling.

He feels blood rushing in his ears, and an edge of something close to panic.

“Veronica,” he starts then realises he lacks the words to complete the sentence.

“Logan,” she replies, her amusement obvious.

“This wasn’t,” he says, suddenly aware of how dry his lips are and wanting to lick them but not quite remembering how. “This wasn’t why I brought you in here.”

“Really?” She says, “This was entirely why I brought you in here.”

“You’re killing me,” he says, but his feet are moving him forward.

“We’re epic,” she smiles, “you can take it.”

She sits up on her knees on the bed, and presses herself against him where he stands. Even with the height advantage of the furniture she’s still inches shorter than he is and so tiny in his arms.

She tips her mouth up to his and kisses him. Her arms wrap around his neck, holding him tight. His hands come up and trace over her skin, reverently.

He almost doesn’t want to touch her, just in case this is just another dream. Touching her might chase away the illusion.

“I won’t break,” she says.

“I know,” he replies, but it’s still a force of effort to press his palms down on the naked skin of her back. He’d touched her before - in a bikini or under her shirt - but never like this, and he can’t help but think of the morning he ran into her in the corridor outside of this very suite. _If cuddling’s the best part, he didn’t do it right._

“I want more than just tonight,” he says, suddenly. “I don’t want this to be something you regret in the morning.”

“Are you going to make me regret it?”

“God, I hope not.”

She quirks an eyebrow.

“You know,” she says, “I can’t help but think you’re a little overdressed for this conversation.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” she says, her tone serious.

“I should do something about that.”

“You should.”

He has his shirt over his head and off in under a second.

“That’s better,” she says, but he captures her mouth in a kiss before she can say anything else.

And then, suddenly confident, he sweeps her up in a bridal carry, and lays her down on the bed, kissing her the whole time.

“That’s more like it,” she laughs. “I was beginning to think you’d gone soft on me.”

He doesn’t dignify that one with an answer, busy instead with reclaiming her body, erasing all the memories of Duncan from her skin. He wants to take them back in time to do this a year ago, to have spent the past year doing nothing but this, erase all the mistakes that broke them apart the first time around.

He remembers the soft gasps and moans she used to make, and now he wants to learn the tastes and smells of her. He kisses his way down her body, pausing to pay some special attention to her breasts, licking on one nipple while stroking the side of the other breast. Cupping her lace-covered flesh up into his mouth, feeling the vibrations of her reactions through his tongue.

He undoes his belt, shedding his remaining clothing, then moves to strip her of hers. He lifts her hips to slide her panties off then kisses around the curve of her stomach, enjoying the small gasps she makes as he moves ever closer to his target.

His fingers slip between her legs to find the welcoming wetness of her arousal. He sucks on the skin of her abdomen, leaving tiny hickies that only he will see as he teases her, rubbing her clit and dipping his fingers inside.

She moans his name and he grins. Every movement and sound she makes seems to go straight to his cock. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard, and he can’t wait to claim her the way he always wanted to.

But there’s more than one way to stake a claim.

Smiling and full of anticipation of her reaction he shifts down the bed and drops his mouth to her clit.

Her reaction is immediate, her back arching off the bed, and he’s forced to move both hands to hold her hips, keep his mouth locked in place. He moves lower, licking at her opening, pressing his nose against her clit to keep the pressure there, then moves one of his hands from her hips to thrust two fingers deep inside her and sucks hard on her swollen clitoris.

She comes loudly, words lost in favour of guttural moans.

He keeps the pressure for a few seconds, then lets go when her hand bats weakly against the side of his head. No need to make things too intense too quickly.

She’s sprawled on the bed under him, her skin flushed and damp with sweat, her hair and make up looking so much less perfect than they were before. He did that, he brought messy pleasure to her, took her from pristine to wanton.

“Logan,” she breathes, basking in her afterglow.

“Veronica,” he replies, letting some of the smugness he feels come out in his tone.

“I’ve never,” she says, “I mean, that was amazing.”

It’s a very Neanderthal thing, to be first. And even if he couldn’t be her first overall, he suddenly proud that he could be the first to do that for her. He hopes deep in his heart that he’ll be her only in that regard, that no other man will ever see her as beautiful as she looks right now, dishevelled from orgasm and liquidly happy.

“I told you,” he says, leaning in to kiss her nose, “Epic.”

“Yes,” she says, reaching for him and pulling him down into her arms.

She kisses him open mouthed, and he knows she must be tasting herself on his lips but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t wipe her mouth. That thought in itself is enough to make his cock throb with need.

“Make love to me,” she says between kisses, and he’s all too happy to follow that order.

.Because whatever tomorrow brings, she’s here with him right now, and when he finally, after a year of waiting and wanting and regretting, sinks inside of her, it feels like coming home.


	5. The jail cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during 3.14 Mars Bars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - contains discussion of rape and consent.

_“You’ve nearly warmed this cold, cold heart of mine.”_

 

Veronica steps closer to the bars of the cell and Logan goes to take a picture - this is one of those moments, Veronica Mars behind bars, that he feels deserves documentation - then pauses.

Ever since yesterday - since Heather, and the radio and the elevator - he’s been thinking about Veronica and their failed relationship. Heather’s determination that all that was needed was one great romantic moment was incredibly naive but he can’t help but wonder if there might have been some truth to it anyway. He didn’t have the words in the elevator, but their entire relationship has been defined and moulded by big romantic moments - the kiss at the Camelot, the various murder charges, saving her from Beaver on the roof of the Neptune Grand - so why should their break up be any different?

The camera phone is in his hand, he could take the photo and be gone with a quip, off to deliver the wireless card to Mac. Move on with his life, put this whole thing behind him.

And yet -

And yet, he doesn’t want to. Not yet..

Heather’s just a kid and when she played him the song request he felt something inside himself shrivel in embarrassment - and he is Logan Echolls, unbothered by excruciating situations and always ready with a come back. It was so un-him and he knew that even if Veronica had heard it, she’d write it off a prank of some kind, That it was just not the kind of thing he did.

And when he saw her in the elevator, he was in pieces, all stubble and bathrobe and random 12 year old girl beside him. He didn’t have the words for explaining how seeing her made him feel, how the chance she might have thought he would have stooped so long as to resort to song requests and soppy messages -

But what if…

Logan doesn’t pocket the phone but he does flip it closed.

Veronica stands close to the bars, her face soft, watching him.

“It wasn’t me,” he says suddenly, “the radio thing. It wasn’t me.”

“It didn’t seem like your style,” she smiles, seemingly genuinely pleased to see him.

“No, but these,” he gestures at the bars, “feel very familiar.”

She grins. “How long ago was your last stay? Getting nostalgic?”

“I’ll have you know this particular cell witnessed what I consider one of the better decisions I ever made,” Logan retorts.

He brow furrows, so he explains; “Mercer. And Moe. But mostly Mercer.”

“Right,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Hey,” he steps closer to the bars, “I have no regrets, they totally deserved that. They deserved more than that.”

“Still,” she says, “how do you feel about the first assault charge on your adult record?”

“Lamb busted it down to a misdemeanour.”

“Really? Lamb did that?”

Logan shrugs, he doesn’t pretend to understand the mind of the sheriff. Veronica has more than enough reasons to dislike the man and nothing he says is going to change that. One good dead doesn’t undo any of the damage his reign at the department has done. Not to mention the fact that he’s the reason she’s in jail right now.

“I didn’t even have to offer to sponsor the police charity dinner.”

“Standards are obviously slipping,” Veronica says, “when the Neptune sheriff passes up an opportunity to extort money from 09ers.”

“It’s a new day.”

Silence falls between them. Logan is annoyed to find it’s the uncomfortable kind of silence. The kind of silence that exists between people who aren’t in love. The kind of silence that says they don’t have anything more to say to each other.

There are so many more things he wants to say.

“So,” he tries, leaning against the bars, “it occurs to me that I could see this as an opportunity.”

“Been practising your lock picking skills?” Veronica asks, “Or are you just looking for an opportunity to bake a file into a cake?”

“Escape by baked goods is much more your style,” he replies, “or so I hear.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says straight-faced, “I just bought snacks to a friend in need.”

Logan snorts.

“There is one advantage,” he says, running his fingers lightly over the bars, “to this situation.”

“I’m not going to recreate Prison Girls Gone Wild,” Veronica chastises, “so don’t ask.”

“As tempted as that is,” he says, “I was referring to the fact that right now, you’re locked in. Can’t get out. Can’t run away.”

“Logan - “ she says, all mirth gone from her tone.

“It would be wrong,” he continues, talking over her interruption, “not to use this to my advantage.”

“Logan -”

“So Veronica,” he continues, “what did you think of the song?”

She blinks. “You said you didn’t request it.”

“I didn’t.”

“So?”

“Just because I didn’t request it doesn’t mean I’m not curious about your reaction. You never responded to my voice mail.”

“Voice mail?”

“The message I left you,” he says, trying to keep his tone light, “the one where I poured my heart out.”

“Ah,” Veronica says, looking uncomfortable. “I, ah, didn’t hear it.”

That gives him pause. Veronica shuffles a little on her feet.

“I deleted it,” she admits, “without listening to it. I was angry.”

“You deleted it,” he says.

“Logan -”

“I would have thought by now,” he says, “that you would have learned that you should always listen to what I have to say.”

She levels a stare at him. For the first time since their conversation started it’s not a friendly look.

“You want to go there now? I’m in jail!”

“It’s the perfect time,” he says. “So you never listened to it?”

“No, I never listened to your damn message,” she snaps, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

Logan snorts softly and shakes his head.

“Veronica -”

“You slept with Madison,” she says, “I don’t have to listen to anything you have to say.”

“If that’s how you want to play it,” he says, “but I thought you would want to know the truth.”

“The truth? The truth that you slept with Madison?”

“You of all people,” he says, letting some of the frustration he feels seep into his tone, “should know there’s more than one type of sex. And drunken, out of my mind, not knowing what was happening or who I was with sex, that’s not the same as the kind of sex we had. Loving. Caring. Conscious.”

“You can not be comparing your one night stand with Madison with what happened at Shelley’s party?!” She almost yells, livid.

“I’m not,” he says, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “I’m just saying I was out of it. I was upset. I drank too much and woke up in an uncomfortable bed beside Madison. I don’t remember it. I have no idea how it happened. It wasn’t something I did to hurt you, it just happened.”

“Even if I accepted that as an excuse,” she says coldly, “how do I know that next time you get drunk you won’t end up with someone else?”

“We were broken up,” he points out. “I never cheated on you, I never would cheat on you.”

“You slept with Madison,” she says, “you know how I feel about her. You know what she didn’t to me.”

“Veronica, she handed you a drink she didn’t know had GHB in it. It was a shitty thing to do, but she didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Logan!” She stares at him, aghast.

“I was there,” he says, knowing that he’s spent almost all the time since trying not to think of or remind her of his role in her rape. But if this is the time for an uncomfortable conversation about the past he might as well go all in. “If Madison is to blame, so am I. I gave Duncan his drink. Dick put the GHB in Madison’s drink to begin with. No one stopped it. Everyone carries some blame for what happened that night.”

“Even me?”

“No!” Veronica is close enough to touch now, so he reaches for her through the bars, rests his hand on her arm. “The only person who isn’t to blame is you. I should not have drugged Duncan, Dick shouldn’t have tried to dose Madison. Madison shouldn’t have spit in the drink and given it to you. But of the three of us, Madison is the only one who didn’t intend to drug someone. She’s a bitch, but that’s it.”

“I hate her.”

“I know.”

“I hate that you slept with her.”

“I know. I hate that too.”

She steps away, not looking at him. And he can’t help it, he has to know. “Do you hate me?”

Veronica doesn’t answer, but all the anger has drained out of her posture. Instead she stands with her back to him, her arms wrapped around her stomach, looking small and lost.

“Veronica,” he tries again, “do you hate me?”

“No,” she says without looking at him, and it’s all he can do not to flash back to the argument they had about him hiring someone to keep an eye on her, and the way she responded when he asked her if she loved him. There’s that same despondence in her tone now, as if she’s being honest, but she’s not happy about it.

“Can you forgive me?”

She turns to him, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Would you give me a chance?” He asks, heart in his throat. “Just one more chance?”

“Why?” She says, “We’ll just screw it up again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t? How many times have we broken up now? Four, Five? More?”

“I love you,” he says, “Nothing else matters.”

“Now who’s being naive,” she says.

“You say naive,“ he tries to smile, “I say romantic.”

“Romantic,” she repeats. There are still tears in her eyes and a quiver in her voice.

“We’re good at romantic,” he says, “we’re good at the big things. How many times have we saved each other? Had each other’s backs? We’re great at romantic.”

“It’s just everything else we’re bad at,” she says, but she’s a step closer to the bars and he can see that maybe - maybe - there’s a chance here.

“We can learn everything else,” he says, “we can try harder. We’re good together.”

“But should a relationship really be this hard?” She says, and there’s something about it, something in how she says it, that triggers a memory somewhere deep in his head.

“No one writes songs about the ones that come easy,” he says, feeling the strangest sense of deja vu as he does so.

She looks at him, head tilted, eyes narrowed, but he almost doesn’t have the attention for it. He’s delving inside his own head, trying to figure out why that sounds so familiar.

“I know that,” he says slowly “I’ve said it before..”

“Yes,” she says, and his head snaps up, his eyes locking on to hers. “You’ve said it before.”

“When?” He asks, maintaining eye contact, feeling like there’s energy crackling in the air between them.

“A long time ago,” she says.

“When?”

“At the alterna-prom,” she says, “you said that we were epic. That our relationship was epic. And I said that should a relationship really be that hard -”

“And I said that no one writes songs about the ones that come easy.”

“Yeah,” she says. She’s very close to the bars now, close enough for him to reach out and touch.

“I didn’t remember that,” he says, “until right now. What happened?”

“I left,” she says, “and when I came back the next morning…”

“Right,” he says, looking away and running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about that. I was drunk.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You seem to be saying that a lot today. You do know that being drunk is not an excuse.”

“Admittedly,” he says, “I don’t get that drunk very often.”

“But when you do you always seem to end up in bed with someone.”

“I’d rather be in bed with you.”

Veronica looks away.

“Veronica,” he tries, taking advantage of the fact she’s close enough to touch to place a finger on her jaw and turn her head back to look at him. “I’m not perfect, I’m not. And I’ve fucked up, I’m not saying that I haven’t. But I love you more than life itself and I would do anything for you. I want to be part of your life. I want to be the other half of your life. I want to wake up beside you every day and fall asleep beside you every night. And I know that right now, you’re still angry and you have every right to be. But I want another chance with you, and I want you to know that I’ll be waiting for you, for when you’re not angry any more and you want another chance too.”

She stares up at him, and he can’t resist, he’s said his piece, made his big romantic gesture.

So he leans in and presses a kiss to her lips through the bars.

It’s just a small kiss, a tiny meeting of lips. There’s no chance to deepen it, no chance to open his mouth and press her against him.

It’s over almost before it began.

“But in the meantime,” he says, taking advantage of her stunned silence. “This is something I want to remember.”

He steps back, raises his camera phone and takes a picture.

He’s gone before she manages to pull her thoughts together enough to say anything else.

And as he walks out of the Sheriff’s department, back onto the streets of Neptune, he knows the weeks he’s spent wallowing in the suite are done. He went to class this morning with a shiny red apple and he’ll go to more classes tomorrow. He’s got a standing date for Mario Kart in three days and a paper due and several professors who he’ll need to charm enough to get him over his lack of academic attention these past few weeks.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll have Veronica back. It might take a while but his words brought her back to him before. Maybe they’ll do so again.

And so later, when he’s running around on the Valentine’s day scavenger hunt with Mac and Bronson and Parker, he’s not even a little bit tempted to get to know Mac’s roommate as anything more than a friend.

Because things are going to be different now.


	6. Chapter 6

_True love stories never have endings_

 

The FBI internship passes in a blur. It’s mostly getting coffee and doing research that some entry level agent will re-do later just to be sure, but all the same, she loves it. She loves having access to the databases and resources, loves the environment where she’s just another 19 year old college coed with a supportive criminology professor. She makes friends with two of her fellow interns, vows to keep in touch (maybe she will, maybe she won’t, but the key thing is she made friends herself and not because one of them has a set of keys she can use or computer skills that she knows will come in handy later). She feels like she’s grown as a person. She feels more adult, more capable. The world is her oyster.

It’s not like she intended to break up with Piz but somewhere around the third week in Virginia she realised she hadn’t spoken to him for 10 days and didn’t miss him at all. His phone calls had been fewer and farther apart than he said he would call, and, for no real reason that she can put her finger on, she made the decision not to call him. He’s probably busy with his internship. She doesn’t want to get in the way. And besides she has no idea what she would say to him if she did call. He’s never asked questions about her investigations (not like Logan did, wanting to know her every move under the guise of keeping her safe). She doesn’t have anything to tell Piz. (She has plenty to tell Logan and not just because she ran one or two research reports on Gorya Sorokin and she thinks he should know what she found).

Still, her internship is over, and Piz’s still has another week or so to go (she thinks, she can’t quite remember the details and as she hasn’t spoken to him for almost a month she hasn’t had the chance to check dates), so she’s back in Neptune and he’s still on the other side of the country.

Summer in Virginia is different to Summer in California. There’s the expected difference in temperature, but the light is different somehow. She views it with a photographer’s eye, taking her camera out to take landscapes with no chance of a money shot.

She’s drawn to the sea for the first time in years, taking photos of early morning surfers, Back-up playing in the spray or just the waves themselves, crashing in to break on the beach, over and over, uncaring of the damage they do each time they arrive.

Wallace is still in Africa. Mac is suffering through a holiday with family/without wifi (at least that’s what her text messages say).

She doesn’t call Logan.

Instead she walks on the beach, picks up a few shifts at the library, covers for her father in the office.

She’s at peace.

It’s been four years since Lilly died and it’s the first time she’s felt any sort of Serenity since she disobeyed her father and ran into the Kane house to comfort Duncan. There’s always been pressure before - solve Lilly’s murder, save Logan from the PCHers, recover from Beaver’s attack, find the rapist. But all of these things are now in the past - there’s no impending investigation, no crime to solve.

She wonders if this is the normal teenage life she’s been missing out on for the past half decade. Shame it only arrives in her life just before she turns 20.

She doesn’t consciously seek him out but she finds him all the same.

He comes in from the sea, wet haired, carrying a surf board.

She’s been shooting pictures for nearly an hour, and when she glances down the check the digital display, she realises most of them have been of him.

It’s not quite as warm a morning as it could be, so she has one of her old hoodies on over shorts. Back-up is off nosing at a rock pool. She started the morning taking photos of him, but one of the surfers caught her eye. So graceful. Every picture seemed so perfect.

She wonders if she already knew, unconsciously, just who it was she was capturing.

He obviously knew her, his path from the water is a straight line. No divergence. No distraction.

She hasn’t seen him since he walked away from Sorokin with blood on his knuckles. She left for Virginia without being able to articulate what his actions meant to her and now they’re nearly two months in the past.

“How was South America?” She asks, trying for casual.

“Didn’t go,” he says, propping the board up on it’s end. “Dick bailed. How was Virginia?”

“Great!” She says, and immediately launches into an explanation of all the different databases she’s been able to access, all of the information at her fingertips.

He smiles at her enthusiasm. Ducking his head to look at her through his eyelashes.

“I can’t believe Uncle Sam let you through the door,” he remarks, “don’t they know who you are?”

She grins. “Little ol’ me?” She says, mock innocently, “why, whatever do you mean kind sir?”

“Veronica Mars with the power of the federal government behind her,” Logan says, a touch of amazement in his voice. “Just think what you could do.”

She blushes a little. He knows her too well.

“Speaking of what I could do,” she says, “I’ve got some information for you.”

“I’ve got to dry off,” he says, “come tell me about it.”

She falls into step beside him, walking along the sand. Despite their difference in height she never had any trouble keeping pace with him. She wonders if he consciously shortened his step or if she lengthened hers. She really doesn’t know. They always just walked together, perfectly in sync.

“So what did you find out?” He says, “Do I have a half-sister to go with my half-brother? A matching set of twins?”

“No,” she admits, “but I do have a current phone number for Charlie Stone, if you want it.”

Logan looks out to sea, his face troubled.

“I don’t think having his number will make him want to talk to me. He changed it for a reason.”

“It wasn’t you fault, Norman Philpps did that.”

“Phipps might have started it,” Logan points out, “but I ended it. The Larry King interview saw to that.”

“You can’t blame yourself-”

“I don’t,” he sighs, “but I do have to take responsibility. Actions have consequences. I didn’t have all the facts.”

“That one’s my fault-”

“No,” Logan interrupts. “My brother, my actions, my fault. You’ve got enough shit to carry, don’t take this too.”

Veronica pats him awkwardly on the arm, strangely relieved.

“Still, I can give you his number, if you want.”

“That would be good.”

Logan leans the surf board against the side of his range rover and opens up the back to retrieve a towel.

“Looked like you got some good waves out there,” Veronica says.

“I saw you taking pictures,” he replies, his face out of site as he dries his hair. “I wasn’t sure if I should come over.”

“Why not?”

“You told me to keep out of your life.”

“And then you beat up a guy with mob ties in the middle of the cafeteria. For me.”

Logan drops the towel on the roof of the car, then unrolls his wet suit down to his waist and starts drying off.

Veronica looks away. It’s not anything she hasn’t seen before, but given their current circumstances she doesn’t feel she has the right to watch him undress.

“I’ve got some information about that too,” she says, keeping her eyes focused on the distant waves.

“Yeah?”

“Gorya Sorokin has transferred out of Hearst.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he went back East, somewhere in New York state. Or so I heard.”

“You heard? You don’t have a tracker on him?”

Veronica turns at his teasing tone to see him watching her, bare chested but dry now, at least.

“You know me,” she says, “I only track the people I care about.”

“I do know you,” he says, watching her with what she had come in their time together to internally categorise as his intense look.

“How’s Parker?” She asks, trying to diffuse the tension she feels is building.

“We broke up,” he replies, “but you knew that. How’s Putz?”

“Piz,” she corrects, but there’s not much sting to it. “And… I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him for a while.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Hardly,” she snorts, then adds, all in rush, “I mean, it’s not paradise. It never was. Actually, I don’t what it was.”

“Past tense.”

“Yeah,” she admits, “but I probably still need to have the talk.”

“The talk?”

“You know, ‘It’s not you, it’s me. We can still be friends.’”

“Ah, that talk.”

“Yeah.”

“We never had that talk,” he says.

“We had a talk, just not that one.”

“Can we still be friends? Are we friends?”

The question catches her unprepared and her eyes lock on to his before dropping to his chest then back to the sea.

“Aren’t you cold?” She asks. “I’m cold.”

“Here,” he drapes a fleece around her shoulders. His hands smooth the material around her, wrapping her up. She drops her nose down to the fabric, breathes in the spicy smell of him.

“I always liked this fleece.”

“I remember.”

He’s standing behind her now, his hands resting lighting on her shoulders. She doesn’t have to look at him.

“I don’t think we can be friends,” she says and feels his hands tighten. “I don’t want to just be friends with you. It’s too hard.”

He doesn’t say anything, but he also hasn’t moved. The weight of his hands feels strangely comforting.

She stares at the sea and thinks of how she’s been coming down here almost every morning, admits to herself it was because she was hoping to see him, and all her stated reasons about sunlight on sea water were just excuses.

“I missed you,” she says softly, “I missed you in Virginia. I missed you last year after - I miss you now. Right now I miss you. I never missed him, he was just there.”

For a long moment Logan says nothing. Then:

“I miss you too.”

She feels hope spring in her heart. And even though she knows all the reasons why they shouldn’t be together, why they shouldn’t try again, she clamps down on them. _True love stories never have endings_ , she thinks. Even though it was Duncan who said it and not Logan, that doesn’t make it any less true.

She turns in place. His arms drop from her shoulders to rest around her waist.

“I don’t want to screw this up again,” he says. “It almost killed me.”

“I don’t want to screw this up again either,” she says, “but that’s not a good enough reason not to do it.”

“You’re still with Piz,” he says, “technically.”

“Yes,” she agrees, “which is why nothing is going to happen now. But I want it to. And I want you to know that I want it to.”

He smiles, ducks his head to peck a kiss to her nose.

“I want it to too.”

“So this is what’s going to happen,” she says, pushing down her desire to rise up on her toes and kiss him properly. “You’re going back to the Grand to shower. I’m going home to write an email.”

“Email?”

“Email.”

“That’s a bit…” he says, scrunching up his face to show his distaste.

“Are you really criticising how I break up with someone else for you?”

“You’re not breaking up with him for me,” Logan points out, “you’re breaking up with him because you don’t love him. And you do love me. But mainly because you don’t love him. You don’t, do you?”

“No.”

“And… me?”

“I.. don’t know.”

Logan stares at her, obviously disappointed.

“I don’t know,” she repeats, “but I want to find out. I want to find that out with you. If you can give me time.”

“Yeah?”

“Part of me,” she says softly, “part of me never stopped loving you. But I need to know if that part is just the nostalgic, silly part of me, or all of me. I want to be grown-ups, I want to have a real relationship with you.”

“I want that too,” he says, “I want everything with you.”

“Okay,” she nods, “then it’s settled. I’m writing an email, and you’re getting showered. And then, later, let’s go out.”

“I’ll pick you up,” he says.

“Don’t wait too long,” she says. “It’s eight am now. I don’t want to be waiting until tonight.”

“Lunchtime? One?”

“Make it twelve.”

“Your wish,” he smiles, then presses another kiss to her forehead. He grins. “This wasn’t how I expected today to go.”

“Me either,” she admits, “but I hoped we’d get there sooner or later.”

“Yeah,” he says, stepping back.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” she says, whistling for Back-up.

She walks backwards away from him, not breaking eye contact, not looking where she is going. Back-up head butts her knees and she flails for a second before she recovers her balance.

She glances down at the pit bull, grinning his doggy grin. She looks up to see the same joyful smile on Logan’s face.

“Noon!” She yells

“Noon.” He grins.

“Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

She turns and jogs back to her car. She has so much to do now. An email to write, one relationship to end, another to start.

Suddenly everything is all go.

As she opens the back door of the Saturn for Back-up to scramble in, she realises that even though she’s excited, ecstatic almost, she still feels at peace.The only thing hanging over her head right now is an email she’s already drafted mentally a dozen times. It’s not a dead friend or a murder investigation or a serial rapist. It’s one problem, easily solved.

And she wasn’t quite telling the truth. She know she loves Logan, but she’s not quite ready to tell him that yet. Not after one conversation. Not while she’s technically still in a relationship with another man.

But all that’s going to change.

And she knows that, sooner or later, she can tell him.

She’s not ready yet.

But she will be.


End file.
